You and Tequila
by RobertDowneyJrLove
Summary: When Mel goes out on a date, Joe, in a fit of jealousy, goes out drinking. She was like tequila; hot and dangerous, like poison in his blood. He'd always have too much and yet somehow, never enough. It's Mel/Joe romance if you wear glasses...and squint...hard.
1. Chapter 1

_You and tequila make me crazy;_

_Run like poison in my blood. _

_One more night could kill me, baby. _

_One is one too many. _

_One more is never enough. _

'You and Tequila' - Kenny Chesney feat. Grace Potter

* * *

A bowl of popcorn and a bottle of cold beer, decent but not the best he's ever had, leave Joe Longo sufficiently prepared to enjoy a movie in the comfortable silence of a mostly empty house. Lennox and Ryder were both upstairs with snacks and drinks to do homework and soon Mel would be on her way out for a date. He's settled on the couch in front of his movie of choice, beer in hand and popcorn on the cushion beside him when she sweeps down the stairs.

"How do I look?"

Her voice is soft and sultry as she waits for him to offer her an off-handed comment about how she must be looking to get lucky but his dark eyes only glitter in astonishment at the sexy, elegant figure that stands before him and he feels like he has to stand up, if only to admire the gorgeous blonde properly. Her lithe body is encased in a sheath of form-fitting black silk, stopping short a few inches above her knees. A pair of wine colored velvet pumps elevate her to her a taller height; dark polish gleaming up at him from her toe-nails. Soft blonde curls swept over one shoulder offer him a jaw-dropping view of the beautiful curve of her neck and the diamond studs glittering in her ears.

"You look..." His voice abandons him and the oxygen leaves his lungs, rendering him incapable of any kind of speech. "Wow! Mel, you look, uh, astonishing!"

She smiles in giddy excitement as she turns toward the desk to gather up the silver clutch that waits for her there. She drops her keys and phone into the small purse and snaps it shut before turning to him with an unsure grin. "Are you sure you don't mind watching the kids tonight?"

"It's fine, Mel." Joe brushes her off with a casual wave. "Don't worry about it."

The smile that curls her mouth further upward, crinkling the corners of her eyes, is one of warmth and of gratitude. Seeing her standing before him in a sweep of black silk and staring at him demurely through long, mascara-darkened eyelashes, it's with considerable will-power that he stops himself from doing something stupid - not that kissing her would be stupid, he just doesn't think it proper right now, when she's about to go on a date and he's about to watch Liam Neeson search for his kidnapped daughter.

The moment, unintentional and tender, is broken by the doorbell.

"That'll be my date." Mel motions vaguely with her hands, stumbling clumsily to the door. "I gotta -"

"It's fine." Joe's soft voice is all he can manage, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Go."

She opens the door, smiles that breathtaking smile at her date before latching onto his arm and letting him pull her out of the house. The door slams behind her and his head drops, chin tucking into his chest. He hadn't seen but a glimpse of the man who had acquired the honor of escorting Mel Burke to some fancy restaurant for the evening, but if Mel had a smile that big just leaving with him, he could only imagine what the man looked like.

xxx

A glass tumbler slides across a splintered bar; amber liquid sloshing over the rim, running down onto the wood of the bar. It was like liquid fire slinking down his throat, a burning torrent of mind-numbing pain that for a good ten seconds seered away the memories. His knuckles turn white; fingers unconsciously tightening around the tumbler as he slammed it back down onto the bar. He closed his eyes and let the tequila burn the memories from the back of his eyelids.

It only worked for a little while.

"Another." His dark eyes glitter dangerously; his drunkenness presenting itself in the darkness of a seedy bar just outside the city of Toledo.

The bartender stared at him with an intensity in his blue-green eyes that spoke of how much of an idiot he thought the drunken tequila shooter was but he said nothing. He was a burly man with graying brown hair tucked neatly into an elastic at the base of his neck and electric blue-green eyes. A tattered t-shirt, one that had seen the bartender through a fair share of bar brawls, was paired with equally tattered jeans and a faded, torn leather vest. His voice rumbles thickly when he speaks; "What's your name, son?"

"Longo," The tequila sloshes down his throat in a fiery jolt of cold amber. "Uh, Joe Longo."

The bartender shook his head as he easily ripped the bar-rag off of the splinter it had gotten snagged on and tossed it over his shoulder. He grabbed the bottle of Cuervo Tequila and made his way over to his last customer of the night. He poured some more liquid into the tumbler and slammed the bottle down; "Well, Joe, I'm David."

"Nice to meet you, David." Joe's dark eyes are red and glassy; evidence of his reacquaintance with Jose Cuervo.

"Listen, son, you ain't exactly the kind of guy I see in this bar a lot." David stares pointedly at Joe's leather jacket, t-shirt and jeans - all marks of a casual night but his jeans cost more than the bartender's entire wardrobe, his shirt was wasn't tattered and his leather jacket wasn't faded or torn in random places. Casual but expensive - clothes he had bought when he was still a broker. It wasn't exactly attire worn to the darker, seedier bars that the outskirts of Toledo had to offer.

"I'd normally go to a broker bar in Toledo but, uh," Joe hesitates to spill his guts to the bartender. "Toledo isn't exactly where I want to be right now."

"Women giving you trouble?" David asks knowingly - he's seen men like Joe before, given not this well dressed, in fact he can remember some that weren't dressed at all, but he has seen this before. They come in a jealous rage, wanting to forget their troubles but still leave in the same state they arrived in.

"My boss went out on a date." Joe mutters darkly, his voice thickly coated with a jealousy he rarely let show.

"This ain't that kind of bar, man." David shakes his head, holding his hands up.

"No, you don't understand. My boss is a woman." Joe sighs, staring at the half-empty shot glass on the bar. "I work for Councilwoman Burke. I help her take care of her niece and nephew."

"And you're in love with her?"

"Not exactly." It's not the best lie he's ever told but he's far too drunk to come up with a better one. Maybe it's the tequila lowering his inhibitions, maybe it's something else, something that he tries to hide. The feelings that always knotted in his stomach whenever she went out on a date, whenever his chances with her diminished. Whatever it is, it compells him to spill his story to the bartender. "I'm divorced, David. Have been for three years now. I always thought that, that would be the worst thing that could happen to me, you know, I lost all of my money but I didn't care about that. I lost my wife and that hurt. But tonight, that seemed like nothing."

"Divorces are hard, son, but take it from me. Seeing the woman you love go out with another man is the hardest thing you will ever witness." David tells him, dropping the rag onto the bar. "But sitting in a bar, drinking an entire bottle of tequila is the worst remedy. If you don't like the situation, fix it."

"I can't fix it. She doesn't feel the same way I do." Joe shakes his head, tossing back the last of his liquor. "She doesn't like me at all."

"How do you know?"

"She's told me. Several times." Joe laughs slightly, the notion of Melanie Burke feeling anything other than animosity toward him is ridiculous to him, even now.

"How do you know her feelings haven't changed?" David poses the question Joe was so hoping he wouldn't.

"I know her. I know her better than I know myself." Joe shrugs it off, "And anyway, I suppose I should be grateful. If it wasn't for her, who knows where I'd be."

"She must not hate you that bad." David raises an eyebrow in clear skepticism.

"She hired me out of necessity. I needed a job and she needed someone to help around the house." Joe smiles despite himself. "I volunteered and she agreed. It was easy enough, at first. Hating her but now..."

"You both need time."

"Joe! There you are!"

The sound of his boss' voice rips through his drunken haze like a light through fog. She's the only way he's going to get home safely. He could take a taxi but he's so far gone, he fears he'd blurt out the wrong address and end up at some stranger's house - or worse, his ex-wife's house. God help him. He looks over at her, barely tilting his head away from the shot of liquor in front of him. It's enough to see that she's still swathed in that black silk number. It's enough to know that she looks haggard in the dull lighting of the bar and that she's been crying off and on.

"Mel?" Joe manages to keep the slurry voice at bay. "What's wrong?"

"The kids called. They said you left." Mel sighs, hopping up onto the barstool next to him with a graceful sweep of her hips, despite the burgundy death traps on her feet. "My date sucked."

"What happened?" Joe slides the tequila over to her, knowing that she needs it more than he does.

"He's just not who I thought he was." Mel spins the tumbler between her fingers, listening to the scrape of glass against wood. The amber liquid swirls in the glass, sloshing against the side and up over the rim of the glass, onto her perfectly manicured nails. "He's too much of a jerk, even for me."

"You deserve better." Joe drops his head onto his hand, propping up on his elbow.

"I know." Mel smiles up at him sweetly, "You tell me all the time."

"I mean it." Joe smiles genuinely.

"Let me drive you home?" Mel offers, her piercing blue gaze focused intently on his red-rimmed brown eyes. She jumps down from her barstool and offers her hand, waiting for him to decide if he wants to risk riding in the car with her.

"Yeah." Joe nods, sliding off of his barstool. He slips his hand into her much smaller, paler hand and has to resist the urge to smile at the feel of her hand in his own. It's soft as silk and to be quite honest, it felt perfectly natural to be holding her hand. "Goodnight David."

"Night Joe." David laughs, watching the small blonde woman lead the drunk man out of the bar.

And as he sways dangerously, his body moving on its own accord, barely able to keep himself upright as they make their way to the car, Joe Longo can only think of two things. The blonde woman that was to be his ride home and the tequila that was currently scorching a trail through his bloodstream. They drove him crazy, hot and dangerous, like poison in his blood. They could both kill him and yet, he always went back for more.

He'd always have too much and yet he'd never have enough.

* * *

**I feel like something is missing. This is my first real foray into this category and I feel like something is missing so I'm hoping to get an objective opinion. Of course, this could be just me and if you like it, that's great, if not, you aren't alone. If you think you know what's missing, please tell me. I'm sorry if this is below par, I'm not accustomed to this category yet so cut me some slack. **

**Love ya, **

**RobertDowneyJrLove**


	2. Hangover from Hell

His head pounds.

Harder than a sledgehammer on concrete.

His back and neck feel stiff and sore. Why the hell was he so stiff and sore? And, when in the hell did his bed get so hard and cold? His brown eyes blink open blearily and he finds himself staring at the cold tile of Mel Burke's bathroom floor. The off-white tile makes him dizzy and his stomach knots up, bile rushing up into his esophagus. Well, at least he knew why he was stiff and sore and slightly cold. Unfortunately, that only created more questions than it answered. The lid on her toilet seat is raised for once - she was a female, this is unusual. She would throw a fit if she saw it up. He hefts himself up into the best sitting position he can manage, wanting to put it down and get out before she came in for her morning shower.

Damn. That really hurts.

"Sick, again?" A groggy voice questions from somewhere to his left.

When he looks, he's surprised to find Mel Burke curled up against her bathtub in favorite pink terry cloth bathrobe. She looks uncomfortable and exhausted, leaning against the ivory porcelain. His eyes feel gritty and dry, like he's had sand blown into them repeatedly. He tries to focus but in this condition, she's nothing more than a pink blur that's becoming painful to look at. He squeezes his eyes shut and twists his body toward the toilet, every single muscle in his abdomen screaming in protest when he dry heaves into the toilet.

"What happened?" His voice sounds like rough-grit sandpaper and it feels like someone had taken a cheese grater to his throat.

She moves, unfurling and stretching out like a cat. Her blonde curls are tangled and her eyes are bleary and red. She motions to the lumpy pile in the corner of her bathroom that may or may not have at one time been his t-shirt. "You went out and got sloppy drunk last night."

"Is that my t-shirt?" He looks up at her, dark eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"Yes. Feel free to examine it closer, if you need proof." Mel offers him a grin that's a little more amused than he's comfortable with at the moment. "You should avoid tequila from now until the end of time. You cannot hold that much liquor."

"How much did I drink?" He's practically hugging the toilet now, his arms draped over the rim of the bowl and his head tucked in his chest.

"Well I don't know how much was gone when you started but when I got to where you went last night, you were working on the last of a bottle of tequila." Mel answers, standing up on sore, shaky legs. "I'd say you had more than half a bottle. It's really surprising that you can't hold your tequila especially when I've seen you drink stronger."

"Never half a bottle, Burke." He snarls irritably, barely lifting his head to look at her. He softens considerbly when his stomach knots tensely and nausea throbs heavily in the back of his throat. He breathes heavily and seeks an answer to the question that's been bugging him since he woke up. "Why did I wake up on your bathroom floor?"

"Well, I tried to get you to your room but it seems that you had other ideas, or your stomach, rather." Mel grins like the Chesire Cat, clearly gleeful at the thought of relaying the events of the previous night to him. "By the time you were done, you had puked on your t-shirt and in the toilet, twice. By round three, there was nothing left and you were too weak to move and I'm not strong enough to move you. What with your Popeye muscles."

Joe just laughs and lifts his head, "That bad, huh?"

"Yes." She nods, looking down at him. "I'm going to make some coffee. Think you can make it downstairs or will you have your aspirin with a side of toilet water?"

"I think I can make it."

Oh. Good Lord. Between the nausea and the dizziness, he's not sure if moving in a downward motion is going to do anything but result in immediate unconsciousness and possible head injuries, but he really needs to move before his body stiffens even more. She holds his hand as she leads him to the stairs. It feels good to hold onto something soft and warm instead of the hard, cold porcelain of her toilet. He likes the feel of her hand in his. The stairs look daunting and he can feel the edges of unconsciousness blurring his vision.

"Just a few steps to the kitchen, can you make it?" She asks him quietly; her voice barely above a gentle hum.

"Yeah." Joe nods, although that's not entirely true. He doesn't think he can make it to the kitchen. The only place he sees himself going is to the hospital with a concussion and a hangover from hell but he's going to try.

The first step is fine. Even though it just seems to stir the couldron of dizziness and nausea that is boiling in his head, it's fine. It's every stair after that, that poses the problem. He trudges and comes close to losing it a couple of times and he's pretty sure he sees her shake with uncontrollable laughter but he makes it to the table without incident. She leaves him be while she puts the coffee on and retrieves a bottle of water and two aspirin tablets.

"So, care to tell me what brought about the need for booze?" Mel questions softly, keeping her voice quiet until normal volumes don't make his head pound with earth-shattering pain. She presses the bottle of water into his palm and carefully sets the aspirin on the table before taking a seat next to him. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm sure whatever it was, booze was the cure. Booze is always the cure, this just isn't like you. This is me, not you. I'm the wreckless one."

He just laughs - well smiles, laughing requires more effort than he's willing to put forth - and pops the aspirin in his mouth. "You aren't wreckless."

"Joe, I can't remember the five years from sixteen until I was legally old enough to drink." Mel retorts, leaning back into her chair. "Believe me, I am wreckless."

He doesn't feel like arguing, mostly because if those aspirin don't kick in soon, he's going to wreck her favorite robe with whatever's left in his stomach. She isn't wreckless. He's the wreckless one now. He's the one that left Lennox and Ryder on their own because he needed a drink to mollify his own jealousy. He's the one who went out and drank more tequila than should be legal. He's the one who decided that booze was a way to forget his feelings - for all the damn good, that did him.

"Mel, listen, about last night, can we just forget this ever happened?" Joe downs half of his water, hoping that it'll flush whatever's left of the alcohol out of his system.

"Joe, c'mon, I don't know you that well but I know you well enough to know that you wouldn't go out unless you had a reason." Mel reaches over to wrap her hand around his wrist only to have him yank it out of her reach. "Joe?"

"Mel, please." Joe shakes his head. Oh. God. Bad idea. Very bad idea. He settles for looking down at his lap. "Don't."

"Just tell me," Mel prods him, though he doesn't think she knows the consequences. "How much harm could it do?"

"A lot." He mumbles hoarsely. He knows she's going to push until it all comes out so he decides to just go for it. "You really want to know?"

"If you want to tell me," Mel nods, reaching for him again.

This time, though, his hand slips into hers and he interlaces their fingers - tightly. It's comforting, to both of them, after a long night. They need the closeness and he needs to know that she's not going to run screaming when he starts talking. He takes a deep breath, although whether it's steel his nerves or stop himself from throwing up, he's not quite sure. Either way, confession time is upon him and no evasive maneuver can get him out of it.

"Mel, last night, I went out and got drunk because you went out on a date." He tells her, not stopping to gauge her reaction before he continues. "I was jealous and not because you had a date and I didn't. I was jealous because you were on a date with some guy who wasn't me."

"Joe, are you saying - ?" She doesn't want to say it because she's afraid it's not true. She wants it to be true. She needs it to be true. She needs to know that he likes her because she likes him too.

Joe releases a breath and smiles gently, tenderly almost. His voice is hoarse, as if he can barely talk. "I like you, Mel. I wanted to be the one to take you out last night."

There's complete silence for just a moment before she's up, out of her chair and moving. He just hangs his head, already knowing what her answer is. He looks up in surprise when her warm hands cup his face and none too gently, either. She meets his eyes, her icy blue gaze boring into his chocolate brown eyes, before moving toward him and - oh. Well, that answered that question. Good Lord.

Her lips feel like literal silk and her dominance and knowledge on the proper way to kiss a man is really doing things to him. Things that shouldn't be possible when he feels like death. Things that could get them both in trouble. And he really wishes he had remembered to brush his teeth. Clearly, she isn't worried because she sinks into his lap, straddling him. His arms wrap around her, pink fabric bunching between his fingers as his hands find her back. She pushes, mewling and keening into his mouth when he refuses to give in, pushing back because he is a male and he craves dominance. She's warm and soft above him and he just wants her damn bathrobe out of his way. He digs a hand into her hair near the nape of her neck, seeking out flesh. He finds what he's looking for and curls his fingers into the softness of her skin.

She pulls away to breathe and smiles at him. It's endearing and sexy as hell, at the same damn time and he wants nothing more than to push her onto the kitchen table and show her exactly what she does to him. But he can't. Because it's all new and fresh and he doesn't want to push it. He doesn't want to ruin it - since clearly the tequila hadn't already.

"I like you too, Joe." With that said, she disappears up the stairs to start her day.

For once in his life, Joe Longo is rendered speechless. Absolutely speechless. Not even his super-hot ex-wife had been able to do this to him; hold this kind of power over him. She wouldn't have dreamed of staying up with him after a few too many drinks leaves him helpless on a bathroom floor. Well, that's not entirely true, she had been there. Usually holding the bottle, offering him more, but still. It's the thought that counts. Mel Burke, however, was very different. Not only did she stay up with him, she kissed him, even though he tasted like old tequila and stomach acid.

Yeah. He definitely owed David the bartender a debt of gratitude.

Do bartenders accept gift baskets?


End file.
